Friday February 18, 1983

 Ally was bounding around waiting for the postman but he brought nothing from Viking Taverns. She does resemble her Auntie Annie, over in Colne.

At the YP a ghastly day. Kathleen and Sarah stood around loudly discussing the alterations to the working day that will be put into place when Carol and I are gone. ________. Mr Lawler is to see us all individually to tell us what we are due.

Home in the daylight. I sat downstairs on the omnibus to avoid inhaling tobcco smoke. The upper deck often resembles an Australian bush fire. We had lasagne and rosé wine. Ally was sneezing and pale and went up to bed with 'Cold Comfort Farm', but ten minutes later she was tucked up with no intention of reading. 

I watched the news. Her Majesty has arrived in Acapulco, Mexico. A little Scotsman is celebrating in the water workers pay dispute.

One of the Sunday papers contained a fun tale. The Queen Mother dislikes President Jimmy Carter because he is, she says, the only man to have kissed her on the lips since the death of her dear husband. The affrontery. Unlike most people I don't have the opportunity to look at the Sunday papers until Friday.

I watched Dorothy Tutin in a play on BBC2. I phoned Mum. Her new cooker is in. A man from the quarry stayed at Waltergarth last night but declined the full-English breakfast. Historic. He was their first paying guest. Auntie Eleanor's house is up for sale. Where can she be going? An artist at Horton is to paint Waltergarth. She sounded like an excited young girl. The move has been great for them. I slumbered in a chair and woke at 11:50.

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Thursday February 17, 1983

 I stood at the window watching Ally at her bus stop. She couldn't wave because she was standing next to a funny man with a beard. 

I went to the YP and told Kathleen I want to see the financial director to see how much severance pay I am due. Carol had been yesterday to get her claim in first. Up with the chief K hears that they will take two volunteers from the library. Poor Sarah was glum all day. A festive air hung over the editorial floor. Everyone wants to go. People all over the office are talking about buying 'a guest house in Kendal'. The EP feature writers are considering buying a fish and chip shop. Sadly, the newspapers to wrap them in will be scarce.

Derek (Jenkins) hasn't discussed Ally's day off. He is no doubt keeping it for another day. He does like to spring things on her. Ally looked washed out. We talked about redundancy. The thing with me is that I've had such a dull ten years and have taken no risks since packing in school at 18. Take the money and run is my feeling on this, and I want so much to run. Come on Mr Sutcliffe, give us a job!

Two certificates have arrived. Ruth Allen Upton, my grandmother, was born at 11, Green Wall, Lewes, Sussex, on September 3, 1900. We, and she, always celebrated her birthday on August 31. _______. She was registered on Oct 16 1900. Dad had a fit. For 48 years he has been celebrating his mum's birthday on the wrong day. The other certificate is the marriage of my great-grandparents John Wilson and Rella Fawbert at Calverley Parish Church on May 2, 1874. The marriage was witnessed by John William Patchett, who on the census is the son of Edward Fawbert, and thus Rella's half brother. Robert Rendell was the other witness to the marriage. 

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Wednesday February 16, 1983

 We got up at 6:30 with no feelings of trepidation and only a mood of confidence can be said to have dominated the breakfast of eggs and toast. It is Ally's idea to go to Hipperholme ridiculously early in case anything untoward should befall the bus driver en route and make us late for the interview. We went out at 8:15 looking suitably 'interviewish'. We sped to Hipperholme on bus so dirty it was impossible to see out of the windows. An amiable bus driver put us off at the correct stop. It was 9:20, bitterly cold, and an hour and ten minutes early. Unlike most sane people who would, in a situation like this, have gone and found a cafe and have a cup of tea, we stood in an open bus shelter full of broken bottles, and covered in graffiti proclaiming 'Huddersfield Town is Shit' &c. Into the Viking Taverns building at 10. Mr Sutcliffe made himself known to us and offered us coffee. At 10:30 we went downstairs to a cavern (like a pub without a bar) and were joined by four other couples of similar appearance to us, all mid-20s. Ally took an immediate dislike to Mr Sutcliffe, but I failed to see why. He was only trying to make us feel at ease. We were all subjected to a maths test. "If a man gives you a £10 note for £3.75 worth of drink, how much change do you give him?" That sort of thing. Then we had to answer 187 questions on personality. i.e. "If your next door neighbour squashed your cat with his Aston Martin would you a). weep, b). get another cat, c).let his tyres down. I enjoyed that bit though Mr Sutcliffe seemed to think we'd find it disturbing. At 12 we went up to the Hare and Hounds (a Viking Tavern) to await a second personal interview. We went in at 2:30. It was a quick ten minutes and he barely touched on anything. Ally found it most disturbing. If successful we would start as trainees on £7,800, a joint salary, and says we could have our own pub within a year. It could mean going to Sale, Cheshire, as relief managers, &c. We'll hear within two weeks. We left in the cold and drizzle and got a bus to Halifax and then a bus to Bradford via Shelf. I could take redundancy next week and find myself in a new job the week after. In at 4:30. Early to bed.

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Tuesday February 15, 1983

 Gloom at the YP. We went before Gerry Holbrook, the managing director, who told us he wants 200 redundancies before August 31. I have a feeling I'd like the redundancy money which could be as much as £4,000.

At home Ally set me some sums and gave all the house plants a drink. We've ignored them since Christmas.

Some Ghastly animal rights people have sent letter bombs to the Ministry of Agriculture and others. This 'save the fur and feather brigade' really annoy me. We ate the straying liver tonight. It didn't seem to be any the worse for its over night stay at the Bradford Area Health Authority. Apparently a cleaning lady chased her down the street with the offending offal.

Glynnie phoned. He never changes.Andrew is 19 today. We sent him a fiver. Saw part 2 of 'Masada'.

Bed at 11 with no qualms about tomorrow.

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Monday February 14, 1983

 Valentine's Day

(Sickly Valentine slushy stuff)

We arrived home from our daily labours to discover a calamity. Ally had left a pack of lamb's liver on her desk at Chestnut House and subsequently our evening fayre was severely compromised. Fish and chips from over the road proved conciliatory. Ally knows that with fish and chips I am easily appeased. No need to go to ACAS. We watched the news and Peter O'Toole in something called 'Masada'. A good old Roman epic. Ally disappeared to bed at 9:20 and I went up to join her after a few more crucifixions.

Her Majesty has gone off to Jamaica, the Cayman Islands, USA, &c. Some of our Caribbean friends, it seems, would like independence from the Crown, but the sight of the flag waving natives doesn't seem to verify this.

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Sunday February 13, 1983

 Quinquagesima.  New Moon.

We woke up at 8:30 to the sound of a full blooded party going on. Lynn and Dave went off home. The queue for bacon sandwiches looked like something from the Warsaw Ghetto. All the overnight guests seemed to leave in a hurry. Poor Auntie Mabel had slept in an armchair and Mum had shared a bed with the pregnant Karen. Mum and Dad looked after the babies and we head to the Crown for lunch with Jim and Margaret. John and Janette followed but sat in the other bar. The chicken was greasy and cold. We signed Mum's visitors book at 3 and departed for Bradford - all listless and sombre. We left Mum and Dad by a roaring fire. As soon as we were in it was straight to bed.

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Saturday February 12, 1983

 Up with the larks and inspect the snow-capped Pen-y-ghent from the kitchen window. Bacon and eggs in the kitchen full of overall clad workmen and tottering babies. Christopher and Frances look so like twins. 'Where are the stairs?' asked Franny. 

Afterwards Ally, Lynn, Frances, Sue, Pete, Christopher and I went for a walk into the village. We peered over the bridge and debated whether we were looking down at the River Ribble. Dad told me it was the Cam. One I've never heard of. We bought jelly babies (male ones, because you get more) and a couple of bottles of lemonade from the village store and walked back to Waltergarth. I am so happy that Mum and Dad have found the right place.

John and Janette climbed out of bed at 12 and we walked down to the Crown for drinkies. Ally told them of our forthcoming interview next Wednesday. Lynn and Dave didn't join us. He was sorting out the chimney so that we can have a fire in the grate tonight. We sat by the fire, in Wellington boots, and the usual raucous banter ensued in the way it always does when Susie is present. Back to the house at 3.

Mabel, Marlene, Frank [bearded], Mark and Debbie arrived. Auntie took me on one side and asked who the mysterious young lady is. I told her she's John's girlfriend. I just got a look. Jim, Margaret, Hilda, Tony, Karen, Steve, Tim, Jill, Diane, and Paul arrived. Waltergarth is the ideal sort of house for a party. The sort of place Ayckbourn could stage one of his farces in. We drifted around the rooms in varying degrees of intoxication and some bright spark suggested going off to the pub - the Crown - and so we all went down the village on shifts, because of the numerous babies. Ally did something odd with her neck during the siege of the bridge as we ran to the pub, and she stood by the fire with a crème de menthe looking pained. It's hard to write an account of an event when one has blurred recollections of the events which took place. I remember talking to Marlene. The rest is a blur. I accidentally bit Ally's finger whilst nibbling her sandwich, and evicted the snoozing Janette from a bed to put Ally therein.

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Friday February 11, 1983

 The ususal sort of day one would expect to have at the YP. Kathleen didn't mention my proposed redundancy but I take that to mean she doesn't want to throw Sarah into a trauma.

Phoned Ally. We are excited about the Horton weekend. Home, in daylight, at 5. We had a baked potato. I burned my mouth. Saw Pavarotti on 'Nationwide'.

John and Miss Drysdale came at 8 and we drove to Horton-in-Ribblesdale. Janette doesn't feel well and blames the damp flat. They wake up dripping wet in the mornings. We're at Waltergarth for 9 and have a guided tour. The place isn't as dilapidated as I was expecting. Mum and Dad are thrilled and beaming about everything. The others are assembled. Lynn has a haircut like Ally's. Baby Katie bigger. Sue thriving and on good form. We had bowls of stew and light refreshment and pile in the sitting room (formerly a bedroom) with a 30s tiled fireplace. We were all tired and far from the riotous crowd of yesteryear. Janette looked far from well. We talked with Mum, Dad and John about double glazing the whole house. Everest want £10,000. A disgrace.

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Thursday February 10, 1983

 Phoned John. He says he will collect us at 7:30-ish tomorrow. He hasn't been in a pub for a week and a half. Janette was bright and cheerful. I hope they are happy.

I have a headache - a rare thing for me. Crumpets and lashings of tea. Ally is going to 'The Fiddler's' at lunchtime because Shirley is off to Ottawa to be a nanny.

A momentous day at the YP. I is rumoured that 18 journalists from across the YP and EP are to be given the chop. We are all summoned to a meeting next Tuesday to discuss the company affairs. Probably 10 per cent redundancies from across the board. I said gleefully that I would willingly go for redundancy. My colleagues were appalled by my flippancy, but of course they have no idea of my plans. Sarah went to pieces and left at 4 looking drawn and tense. Kathleen says she doesn't want me to leave, but knows Ally and I want to work together saying "why don't you get your names down on the waiting list with breweries?" I nearly dissolved. I suppose I should have said.

I am going to keep a list of things that our own 'Mrs Slocombe' is ignorant of. Two weeks ago it was badgers, and today it was Peter Tatchell, the _____ Militant Tendency Labour candidate for Bermondsey. How can someone who regularly indexes the YP not know Peter Tatchell? It terrifies me.

Home with a throbbing head. Ally on the settee with a white face and eyes like saucers. Not feeling too bright. We grovelled on the rug and contemplated food. Is it eggs again or sausages and beans? It's the latter. Ally, though tired, couldn't resist setting about ironing with her usual gusto. This week she must have ironed everything in the house. Afterwards we watched A.J. Cronin's 'The Citadel'.

We have forgotten most birthdays this year. Tomorrow (Uncle) John celebrates in Lanzarote. I do wish we could have remembered that one.

See on the news that a mass murderer in Muswell Hill has shoved sixteen bodies into a sewer outside his home. A proper good old fashioned murder for a change.

Should I be showing some concern for Prince Andrew's leaning towards the affections of buxom tarts? I do hope that the young chap is having a good time and doesn't intend making one the next Duchess of York. Koo Stark isn't bad.

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Wednesday February 9, 1983

 A letter arrived from Viking Taverns asking us to attend an interview at Hipperholme next Wednesday. My knees rattled together as I went off to my daily labours feeling much excitement. Poor Ally doesn't have any days owing and will have to approach the nauseating Derek. I sat smugly at the YP. I am going whether I get the Viking job or not. I have always vowed to be gone from the YP before my tenth anniversary, and that auspicious event occurs in October. Ally phoned this morning and spent ten minutes trying to persuade the switchboard to put her through. It's now policy to put no calls through to the library before 2pm - except for branch office calls. Such a bore.

To Greenhead's book shop. I'm obsessed with diaries: Leo Amery, Beatrice Webb, Noel Coward, Joseph Goebbels - I want them all. 

Today is National 'No Smoking' Day and to mark the occasion Mrs Slocombe sat blowing out smoke like the Vatican chimney on election night. Sarah's (illegible) is becoming too tiresome.

Tonight we ate baked potatoes with cheese and shrimps and yes, salad again. Goose pimples thinking about our interview. She hasn't told Derek yet.

Old Dame Eva Turner was the subject of 'This Is Your Life'. I escaped to the bathroom to avoid 'Dallas' and Ally took out the iron again. We are like a laundry here.

I don't discuss current affairs and my opinion of them these days, do I? Well, I'm very anti CND, and very anti Andropov, Foot and Haughey. I also fail to see why the kidnapping of a racehorse should be the main item on the 9 o'clock news. The forthcoming nuclear holocaust has been pushed into the background by this Irish 'equestriana'. The missing horse belongs to the Aga Khan. George Bush has been to see the PM. Should Ronald Reagan, 72, die in his sleep he'd be the most powerful chap to walk the earth since Michael Parkinson.

And so to bed.

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Tuesday February 8, 1983

 Snow on the ground though nothing drastic. I was laughing about something and Ally said I look like Jimmy Tarbuck. Oh dear. To the YP. I was summoned to the office of Mr Malcolm Barker _________. He wanted all the details on the Earl of Halifax and his offspring. (The Princess of Wales was last night at Garrowby to attend a charity function). I filled him in with the facts and he said, of the princess, "she is of course a cousin of Halifax, isn't she?" I said yes, but went away frowning. All the top aristocratic families can of course be linked somewhere. I snatched up Burke's (Peerage) and found that HRH and Halifax are 6th cousins both having a common ancestor in a Duke of Gordon, and in the 2nd Earl Grey, prime minister and KG, &c.

Mrs Slocombe came in after lunch and sat frantically humming. She only does this when in a highly nervous state. Her face-lift is planned for March 1. The humming is always without rhythm and completely void of musical sensitivity.

Tonight I asked Ally to take down Burke's from the shelf and I asked her to select a peer at random and then I would find a relationship with that random peer and the Princess of Wales. She selected Earl Nelson. He is descended from the Duke of Marlborough, and so too is Diana. She then picked a Munro baronet, who has an Ogilvy up his tree back in the 13th century. That's enough for me.

Ally stood ironing and we watched a prehistoric science fiction film about worlds colliding. She grumbles that my taste in films isn't up to much and wanted to tune into 'Brookside' Channel 4's answer to 'Crossroads'. She may well win. When it comes to squabbling about the TV I always give in.

Talk about Saturdays party at Waltergarth _______.

Ally, still with iron in hand, says the Princess of Wales isn't as pretty as she once was. She has lost 'that' look. I think I know what she means. The Sun has a large photo of one of Prince Andrew's so-called aquaintances flashing her tits. It's just too much. The paper also states that the prince is to visit Koo Stark in the states very soon. Awful scandal mongering. Princess Margaret is still going about town with Derek Deane, principal dancer of the Royal Ballet, but this doesn't create the storm it would have done 5 years ago. Funny how things change?

Off to bed. Ally is reading Nancy Mitford and I nothing. I lay watching the damp creeping down the walls. Hurry Mr O'Connor (the roofer). We need you.

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